


Barber Shop

by Schm0use



Category: Left 4 Dead 2
Genre: Fluff, Genderswap, Romance, Teen rating for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4334642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schm0use/pseuds/Schm0use
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you find yourself in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, some things have got to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Barber Shop

“Uh… I’m real sorry if I fuck this up.” Ellis said, feeling nervousness well up in the pit of his stomach.   
  
“Just. Do it.” Nikki said through gritted teeth.   
  
He gripped the scissors she’d found tight in his slightly sweaty hand, and reached out with his other to hold a lock of her thick, dark hair. It had been soft and shiny, voluminous, when they had first met, but now it hung limp, hitting about halfway down her back. For a second, he thought about just flinging the scissors away from himself, away from her. He couldn’t figure out  _why_ she’d come to him.  
  
Man, he didn’t want to do this.  
  
_Snip._  
  
Nikki sucked in a gasp. Ellis froze.  
  
“Sorry, sorry, sorry—”  
  
“Ellis, just  _do it_ , alright?” She snapped—and he was familiar enough with her voice, listened so closely to her whenever she spoke, that he managed to catch the way it shook, just a little. She took a deep breath. “I’d rather be bald then dead.”  
  
He laughed uneasily. “Well… not quite bald, right?”  
  
“Whatever.”  
  
_Snip snip snip._    
  
It took a long time—he was trying so hard not to screw it up any more than necessary. Bit by bit he cut, mostly in a straight line, watching as her hair fell all over his boots and the dirty, dusty floor of the Lagniappe. She closed her eyes when he moved around to the front, pursing her thin lips together so tightly they formed a single line.   
  
He pushed some of the hair back off her face, inspecting his work, fingers barely brushing her forehead. This was probably the closest he’d ever get to her.  
  
“Um. I’m done, I think.”  
  
He was leaning down, face close to hers, when her light eyes fluttered open, fixing him with that cold, familiar stare.   
  
“Well?” She asked impatiently, as he straightened, backing away.   
  
“You look fine.” He said. “Good. I mean, I ain’t a professional, but I think I did alright.”  
  
“Fantastic.” She said dryly. “Well, I’m sure as long as  _you_ approve.”  
  
She  _did_ look good, or as good as anyone could while covered in a thin layer of zombie; but, then again, she would probably always look good. Her hair fell a few inches below her ears, now. It wasn’t the best haircut in the world, of course—Ellis had steady hands, as a mechanic, but the scissors were blunt and old, and there was only so much he could do. Still…  
  
“I swear ta God, Nikki, it don’t look bad.” He said earnestly. “I mean, you can go ask Coach or Rochelle…”  
  
“No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I’m not looking for approval, here.” She told him sardonically, standing up and brushing past him. “I’m going to go shower.”  
  
“Okay.” He nodded. “I think the captain—uh, Virgil, right? I think he said dinner’d be about an hour from now.”  
  
She waved a hand in acknowledgement, and sauntered off. He watched her go for a moment, before turning and sighing. No use trying to reassure her anymore. She’d just get mad.  
  
***  
  
She’d resisted cutting it for a long time. It was uncharacteristic of her—she was practical, determined to survive, and an unfeeling bitch on top of all of that. The Infected found her hair an easy thing to latch on to, it made it easy for them to grab her and drag her back. Cutting it should have been easy.  
  
But she loved her hair.   
  
She was beautiful; Nikki knew that, and her certainty manifested itself in a way that disarmed everyone around her. But there was just something about her long hair that made her who she was. Maybe it was the fact that she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d had her hair cut short—when she was young and naïve, maybe, easily taken advantage of; a time she never wanted to go back to.   
  
Or maybe it was just because it made her feel that much older. Her mother had had short hair. She didn’t want to be like her mother. She let the water from the tiny showerhead trickle over her, watching as it ran red into the drain—washing away the signs of the apocalypse. It was easier to wash, now. Her hair, that was. She ran her fingers through it, sense memory still surprised when they pulled free after a few inches, without getting tangled.   
  
It had taken the double Tank scare back at the plantation to convince her. Getting away alive was hard enough—it had been made nearly impossible when, at the worst moment, she’d been yanked back by some random zombie, landing hard on her back in the mud.   
  
Ellis had nearly killed himself trying to get to her before the Tanks did.   
  
She turned off the shower and wiped herself off with the too-small towel, drying her hair last. They were all borrowing clothes from Virgil, and she’d received a pair of overlarge sweatpants and a t-shirt. There was no hairdryer, no styling products here. She sighed.  
  
Fuck it.   
  
Coach and Rochelle didn’t say anything about her hair at dinner, not that she was expecting them to. Ellis looked upset at this, and she almost told him not to worry. It wasn’t like she was going to throw him to the next Tank they saw because he’d given her a bad haircut.   
  
“How long before we get to New Orleans?” She asked, shoveling spoonfuls of freeze-dried rice into her mouth. No need for politeness around the other three.   
  
“You’re gonna choke, you keep goin’ at that rate.” Ellis said, breaking his unusual melancholy to grin at her. She paused, chewing a bit more slowly, and swallowed.  
  
“I’m a growing girl, Ellis.” She said, giving him a coy little smile. His ears went red, but he held her gaze, smiling back.  
  
“We should reach the city in a few days.” Coach said.   
  
Nikki groaned.  
  
“I know…” Rochelle said sadly. “I wish it was longer.”  
  
“What, are you insane?” Nikki stared at her. “Cooped up on this boat with  _these_ two,” She jerked her head at Coach and Ellis, “and no zombies to kill? I’ll probably end up shooting them instead.”  
  
Rochelle laughed, Coach looked stoically unamused, and Ellis groaned.  
  
“That ain’t very nice of you.” He said. “After I cut your hair so nice and all.”  
  
Her playful mood evaporated in seconds. “It looks like shit, Ellis. Don’t feel too proud of yourself.”  
  
Instant uncomfortableness. Rochelle and Coach looked awkwardly around themselves. Ellis looked down at his plate of food. Nikki rolled her eyes. Great. Now she’d hurt his  _feelings_. Fucking sensitive, all of them.  
  
“I’m going to bed.” She announced. No one tried to stop her.   
  
She wasn’t tired, but it wasn’t like there was anything else to do on the damn boat. And once she was in hers and Rochelle’s cabin, there wasn’t anything else to do but go to sleep.   
  
But of course, she didn’t stay asleep. She jolted awake a little while later, breathing harder than usual. Nightmare.   
  
She’d been back at the plantation. Getting dragged down again. The last thing she’d seen before the return to reality had been Ellis’s face, as he pulled her to her feet.  
  
She flung the covers off herself, feet hitting the cool wood floors. Rochelle was already asleep on the top bunk, out like a light. Nikki pushed the door open quietly, creeping out into the night.  
  
***  
  
It was something, how you really noticed the stars when you were sitting out under them, floating along on the river. Ellis dangled his bare feet off the side of the boat, leaning back on his hands so he could look up at the sky. It was almost chilly out on deck, in nothing but a thin t-shirt and shorts.   
  
Footsteps sounded lightly behind him and he turned, watching as Nikki approached him. She settled herself wordlessly beside him, drawing one of her knees up to wrap her arms around it. She looked smaller like this—she was nearly as tall as him, but curled in on herself, she looked vulnerable; unintimidating.   
  
“What are you looking at?” She asked, staring out over the dark water.   
  
“The stars.”   
  
Nikki snorted at that.   
  
“What?”  
  
“Nothing.” She said, lip curling slightly—she was fighting to keep a neutral expression, but couldn’t quite manage it. “That’s cute.”  
  
He ignored her scorn. At least she was  _trying_ to hide it, now.   
  
“Why?”   
  
He glanced sideways at her. “Why what?”  
  
“Why are you looking at them?”  
  
“I dunno.” He shrugged. “Don’t do it all that often, I guess.”  
  
They lapsed into silence once more.   
  
“Why are you awake?” He didn’t expect an answer.   
  
“Nightmare.” She said shortly. He looked over, surprised she’d be so open. “What? You telling me you don’t get them?”  
  
He bit his lip. “Naw. I do.”  
  
She combed her fingers through her hair, absently, stopping short as they came free of the shortened ends prematurely. The dim light reflected off her hair again, now that it was clean, like when they’d first met. When they’d first met, he’d thought she was perfect.   
  
He knew better now, obviously. But still.   
  
“I know this don’t mean much.” He said softly. “But it looks pretty.”  
  
She looked sharply at him. “What?”  
  
“Your hair.”  
  
“Did I ask for your opinion?”  
  
“You been askin’ for it since I cut it.” He said stubbornly. “You just won’t admit it.”  
  
This was dangerous ground, talking to her like this. She could get mad. She’d probably end up leaving him there, alone.  
  
She just glared.  
  
“When the day comes that I give a flying fuck about your opinions, Ellis, I’ll let you know.”  
  
He clenched his fist, briefly. “God, you’re a bitch.” She laughed shortly, not denying it. “Why the hell’d you ask me to cut it, if you were just gonna get mad at me for it?”  
  
“Because—” She said loudly, cutting herself short angrily. “Because you came back for me, dumbass.”  
  
He opened his mouth to retort, then stopped. Wait. “What?”  
  
“You could’ve died, too. It wouldn’t have been a problem, if I’d just cut my goddamn hair in the first place. So I wanted you to be the one to get rid of it.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
She drew her other knee up, resting her cheek on them, staring at him defiantly. He stared back. What did she want him to say?  
  
Slowly, he reached forward, threading his fingers through her hair. It wasn’t as scary as it might have been when it was longer. This way, he could comb through it quickly, tugging his fingers gently out at the ends. No worries about his hand getting caught. The mental image made him smile, laugh quietly.   
  
“What?” She asked, sounding genuinely curious. He grinned.  
  
“Nothing.” He took the risk and ruffled her hair. She “mm”-ed in annoyance, tugging her head away from his hand, which he retracted, still grinning slightly. “I still think you’re pretty.”  
  
She looked at him for a long, long time, and he refused to look away. The expression on her face didn’t so much change as the mood around them did—and for a second, he could have sworn she almost smiled.   
  
He held his breath when she leaned forward, pressing her cold nose into his arm, before turning to rest her head on his shoulder.   
  
“Thanks.” She said.   
  
“Don’t mention it.”


End file.
